Star Trek Asalooq, Episode 1: Arrival with Fanfares
by startrekasalooq
Summary: A new starship crew assembles on Deep Space 9, receives its mission and sets off into the unknown... Star Trek Fanfic in the spirit of DS9 and VOY. Episode One of a series of undetermined length (four episodes finished as of 30.10.2017). Updates Mondays.
1. Chapter 1 - Bunkmates

Studiously keeping to one side of the corridor, Ensign Teldac Issor strode along this dark side-corridor of Deep Space 9, his eyes down on the data pad in his hand. His features were set in what, for a human, would have been a very slight frown of concentration, but in fact, he felt extremely anxious. On the pad were his assignment orders to U.S.S. Stanislav Y. Petrov (a name he could not pronounce), soon to be the Station Ship at Asalooq Starfleet Facility, on his own homeworld. On his own homeworld. He could barely stomach returning to Asalooq, let alone doing so in his new capacity as a Starfleet officer ...

He was to be CONN officer aboard the Defiant class vessel. Today was his ordered date of arrival, and his assigned latest time of arrival, 1500, was still three hours away. Everything was fine with those orders, except the little appendix signed by his new (and first) ship's XO: _"Quarters: Deck 2, Section 3B, 3B-09. Berthed with ENS Myra Dhawan, OPS."_ A woman. He would share quarters with a woman. He absolutely hated that little appendix. Everything was fine – but that. He knew the Ensign, they had been in one Academy year, after all. He had nothing against her, but he barely knew her. At the Academy, he had always been berthed with Vulcans. That was fine. Vulcans were orderly and respectful, almost Asalooq in their outlook, if much too brisk and forward for that. Myra Dhawan was Human – and Humans were incredibly nosy and overly familiar to the point of being offensive. Teldac had gotten used to it over the years, but that didn't mean he would share a tiny space with a woman from that species.

That meant one thing: on his first day on the job, he would have to go to the XO and make a complaint, to have other arrangements made. How could he do that? He didn't even know this Lt. Commander Coryn. Or Velna. He didn't even know which was the correct name! How could he address her? They had not exchanged a single word so far. Fine, he was technically introduced to her via his orders, but that didn't mean he could go to her with a complaint. His grandmother would not speak to him for days if he knew he even considered such an uncultured act. After a few days, maybe. But not right now. He would have to apologize to Ensign Dhawan for this indecent arrangement made by Starfleet. The organisation could be most tactless.

Having presented his credentials to the computer, he tentatively stepped aboard Petrov. The corridor was bleak visually, but quite loud from all the bustling crew and final work going on all over the ship. Two Engineering NCOs passed him by very closely with a heavy piece of equipment he didn't recognise, and they didn't even stop to apologise. He was supposed to do something about such things, but this was his first day, and he could not have reprimanded them anyway. Not without knowing their names, even if he was an officer now.

With the computer's help, he quickly found his way to Deck 2, Section 3B. Standing before 3B-09's door, he found himself praying to the Ancestors – _don't let her be in the shower or naked. Please._

* * *

Ensign Myra Dhawan was slowly making her way through the starbase. Or rather, she was trying to do just that. She had just gotten lost for the third time. Someone had forgotten to send her the deck plan she would have needed for finding her way to where her new ship was docked. Her new ship. Despite the frustration caused by this unplanned delay – at least she had made sure to arrive no less than four hours early, so she was unlikely to get in any trouble on her first day – the words didn't fail to fill her with elation. Finally, finally she was a real Starfleet officer, off to real missions. Finally, there was no doubt any more that she was doing something worthwhile. She felt a little anxious, too. The duties on board an actual Starfleet ship, stationed far away from the Federation's core and its infrastructure, were certainly going to be something else than excelling at the Academy. But that was just what she had wanted, she reminded herself. An opportunity to prove herself, to learn and grow without either the security or the pressure of her father's connections.

Turning around a corner, Myra felt certain that she had been here before. Great. Maybe she should reconsider travelling to the edges of Federation space if she couldn't even find her way around a starbase. But this thing was just so freaking huge. She began to realise that she wouldn't be able to avoid asking someone for directions, much as she would have liked to. Everybody looked so busy, and so intimidating in their uniforms. Well, there were civilians, too, but they didn't seem very approachable, either. Besides, who knew where they came from. Maybe she would cause a diplomatic incident by asking them for directions because clueless young Ensigns asking someone questions was somehow considered mortally offensive in their culture...

"Excuse me, Madam?," Myra finally, her heart beating much too quickly, approached a female young Ensign who appeared a little less scary than the rest. The Ensign looked at her questioningly. At least she didn't shout at her or anything like that. Encouraged by that, Myra continued: "I was wondering, if you, uhm, if you happen to know how I can get to my ship. The _U.S.S. Stanislav Y. Petrov_. It's supposed to be docked here, and I'm... well... I need to report for duty, but the deck plan got lost and then I got lost and..." She realised she was rambling and broke off. 'Great,' she thought, 'That was a monologue worthy of Shakespeare. This lady must think I'm a complete idiot.' The other Ensign shook her head and said, friendly enough: "I'm sorry, but I've got no idea. I've also just arrived. I'm from the _U.S.S. Liberty_ , we're just here to take on supplies." Mumbling some words of thanks, Myra fled.

On her third attempt, she actually managed to find a helpful station techie who managed to tell her how to find her ship. She got there without further incident and even found her quarters quite easily. With a sigh of relief, she dumped her duffel bag and rucksack on the top bunk and looked around. Spartan, as she had expected from a Defiant class vessel, but that didn't bother her. Actually, it added to her sense of adventure. If she had been going for creature comforts, she would simply have accepted the boring, prestigious posting suggested by her father.

She was more worried about her roommate-to-be. No matter how often she told herself that it was just for a couple of days, the idea of sharing quarters with a stranger sounded scary. It had been like that when she arrived at San Francisco, although she had soon found out that she was, indeed, very lucky, finding a great friend in her roommate, Kathleen. Which reminded her she really wanted to write to Kathleen, who was also on her way to her first posting. But that would have to wait until she had completed all her duties for the day.

With a frown, Myra studied the information files she had been sent (at least the deck plan was the only thing they seemed to have forgotten). There it was. " _Quarters: Deck 2, Section 3B, 3B-09. Berthed with ENS Teldac Issor, CONN."_ Well, that was a bit of a relief, she thought. At least it wasn't someone vastly more experienced and higher-ranking, which would have added additional awkwardness. Actually, she knew Ensign Issor. Well, sort of. They had been in the same year at the Academy, even shared some classes, but they had never talked much. Issor seemed like he preferred to keep to himself, and in a way, that was true for Myra, too.

Still three and a half hours left until she had to report for duty, Myra saw. She quickly unpacked her bags, but she hadn't brought too much stuff and was finished quickly. Well, maybe she could get started on that letter after all. It was certainly better than agonising about her roommate, her duties or the meeting planned for the evening.

Lying down on the bed, Myra grabbed a PADD and began typing. She could have recorded the letter, but although that was the normal way to do it, she had never really liked it. It felt like everybody could listen to her private thoughts, which made sense when there were people around. It didn't really when she was alone, but she couldn't shake the feeling and had become pretty fast with the old-fashioned display keyboard over time.

Absorbed in her writing, it took Myra a moment to realise when the door opened and Ensign Issor came in. After a moment's confusion, she put down her PADD, climbed off the bed and extended her hand in greeting. "Ensign Issor. It looks like we're going to share this room – I hope you're okay with that? How did your journey go?," she said. It cost her some effort to make conversation with a near-stranger, even one her own age and rank, like that, but she really wanted to get off to a good start...

* * *

She was demanding a _touch_. Why would she do that? Why did she have to be like that? Humans had no manners. They were like the annoying little pets some of them kept, always barking, always demanding attention, as if respect was anathema for them. And then, she asked so many questions at once. No time to adjust to each other's presence. Well, she was not naked but clad in a proper uniform, which had the same newly replicated look and smell as his own. She also didn't smell like some non-Asalooq did. Yes, that was a point in favor of her species: they tended to wash properly. In fact, many used neutralizing perfumes, like his own people did. Teldac looked past her knees to the drab grey carpet. Then, the movement hasty and forced from the effort, his hand shot forward and briefly grasped Dhawan's. "Greetings," he managed to say.

She did not turn away as she should have. He was unsure what to do. His usual dodge from Academy days was no longer plausible - he had always claimed to have studying to do, and because that was mostly true, it had worked well. He found himself falling back to his upbringing. Ensign Dhawan was a woman who demanded his attention, and he was in no position to stop the conversation now. At the same time, her rudeness was difficult to deal with. She did not know better, but still, he didn't know how to respond. "We were berthed together, yes," he added after a short silence. The other questions were so utterly personal that it was obscene of her to ask. She might as well have told him to strip down and engage in mating right now. Stiffly, Teldac turned to his own bunk and set his bag down. He didn't quite turn his back on her, because he had learned that human mores frowned on that, but he made no attempt to uphold the conversation they should not have been having anyway. Not in this way.

* * *

Torn between shock and sheer confusion, Myra stared at her roommate's half-turned back. There she had been, making her best effort to be friendly and welcoming despite her shyness, and Issor was acting as if she had killed his pet or at the very least hidden his uniform shortly before an important meeting... Well, his behaviour had been polite – barely – but it was quite clear that he disliked Myra or harboured some kind of negative feelings towards her. And she couldn't for the life of her have said why.

She desperately tried to think of something to say, some way to break the tension that was palpable between them, but her mind was completely blank. 'He wouldn't act like that for no reason. You must have done something to upset him,' she thought. But what? It couldn't be anything she had done today since they had both just arrived. The Academy, then? But how could she have turned him against her if they had hardly ever spoken? Myra pondered the question in silence for a while, climbing back on her bed and pretending to be busy with her letter, but she couldn't think of anything. She had been a pretty well-behaved student, concentrating on her classes, her free time mainly occupied by café or cinema visits with Kathleen and, sometimes, some others, and the drama club. She had almost completely avoided the raucous parties and reckless, sometimes cruel pranks some of the other cadets had indulged in. Hardly the kind of behaviour that would make you enemies. Nor had she and Issor ever been direct rivals, academically or otherwise, their chosen careers and interests being different.

Finally, Myra gave up. She felt like a coward for it, but she felt she couldn't stand it any longer. She had to leave the scene. Hastily, she climbed out of her bed. "I'm off... going to explore the ship...," she said, quietly and a little rushed, looking down on her boots. She hesitated for a moment, fully prepared to leave but wanting to give Issor the chance to say something, anything that might explain for a behaviour. But she had no such luck. Whatever his reasons for hating her, they went deep enough to ignore her completely.


	2. Chapter 2 - Initial Mission

Captain Peña stood on DS9's promenade before one of the many large windows, looking out to the endless number of stars. Ah, the stars. He could not remember ever being bored with this sight. He had nearly continuously dwelt in space for almost forty years, and he had obviously not always gazed in wonderment at those specks of light, but often he had and still did. He could not imagine a life limited to one planet's experiences.

This command tour would be his last, willingly – he needed another two years on active duty before he would join the faculty at Starfleet Academy. Many officers clung to the Captain's seat, and although he did not, Miguel understood them. It was a great task, a great joy and a great adventure to captain a starship. Nothing in his life had been as rewarding – except perhaps to see his children flourish and succeed in building a life for themselves. Command of a starship had been his life's ambition, and he had achieved it. He had no intention of commanding fleets or „flying a desk", and hadn't distinguished himself as a Staff officer as much as he would have had to to go beyond Captain's rank. Heading 2nd Fleet's Science Staff had been sort of fun, but returning to active duty had been a blessing. Now, he was looking for new and different adventures beyond an uncomfortable bridge seat.

Maybe half his life, the more vigorous and active part of it, was almost over. He would savour his last command, enjoy every moment of it, enjoy seeing another collection of young officers grow into a team. That was his strength as a commander – he could bring people together and make them into more than the sum of their parts. Over the years (decades, he reminded himself), Peña had learned how he did that, turning intuition and theoretical insight into a blend of both with a wealth of experience. He had learned to trust his abilities, and he would actively exercise them one last time before retiring to a quieter, steadier life. Most of his grandchildren lived on Earth, and he looked forward to spoiling them with his wife, as his own grandparents had spoiled him all those years ago. In a way, he felt old. Physically, certainly. His last CMO had had to fix a heart condition which, less than 200 years ago, would have killed him by his age. Every now and then, headaches, a result of his injury sustained at Wolf 359, would plague him, but a focused painkiller took them away easily enough. In another way, Miguel Peña did not feel old at all. He had much to see and much to do, and long decades left to do and see it in. But now, it was time to go to work.

Peña walked past the famous Ferengi Casino and Bar and several other businesses on this oddest of Starfleet installations and finally found a turbolift, which took him to the docking ring. He smiled as he stepped aboard the last ship he'd ever „own". From this docking port, the famous class ship of Petrov's type had set out to hunt for Dominion, Cardassian and Breen troops, under the station's legendary erstwhile commander, Benjamin Sisko. Peña knew Ben Sisko from barely remembered Academy days. He had personally put the younger man through some of the symbolic initiation rites ... His smile faded, however, as he remembered the mission he had now. He might well encounter some of the old foes again – not the Dominion, but Cardassians, Breen and even the Borg were not that far from Asalooq, the sector he was headed for. That was another thing he reportedly shared with Ben Sisko – the deep-seated horror left from that dark, dark day at Wolf 359. So many friends lost, so many lives broken … maybe that had been the day that Starfleet lost its innocence. The fleet in which he was a Captain was a different one from that he had joined as a teenager. It was much larger, much tougher – and so much less scientifically minded that young Miguel, his degree in Comparative Anthropology burning in his pocket, might not have recognised it at all. Peña knew he would quietly lobby for a slow change of direction once he was an Academy professor, but for now, he would have to live with it, and maybe see to it that his little corner of the fleet didn't lose its spirit.

U.S.S. Petrov and her Defiant class shape were a symbol of all that. Named after an Earth officer who had truly, single-handedly saved his species, she was a warship. A super-heavy fighter, like the highly bred destrier warhorses of old. For this mission, to be the Station Ship on Starfleet's first post on its newest member planet, it was not the right type. Peña would have lobbied for a Nova class, perfectly suited, but he knew those were hard to come by. He had learned to pick his battles, bureaucratically as well as tactically.

The Defiant class had no amenities to speak of, quite a change from _U.S.S. Herero_ , a comfortable Intrepid class vessel. It also didn't have a lot of room, so another ship, the prosaically named transport ship „SAV-332", essentially an ugly old hull outfitted with four warp nacelles, would carry most of the mission's Starfleet and civilian personnel to Asalooq, where an advance team was even now setting up Asalooq Starfleet Facility. The mission in which Peña and _Petrov_ would be integrated was manifold, but it could be summed up easily enough: it was the typical Initial Civilian-Starfleet Mission to a new member planet, and its objective was to bring Asalooq into the Federation in every conceivable way, from agricultural technology to flags to fly before its government buildings. If they had flags on Asalooq, and government buildings of the sort he imagined. It was six days' flight to Asalooq, and he would have a lot of reading to do.

Peña had managed to arrive aboard quietly, something of a tradition in his career. From his quarters, he quietly set a full staff meeting for 2000, and a private one with his XO, whom he knew only by her file so far, at 1900. That way, everyone would have time to unpack and look around. He would keep things relaxed, get to know the bright young faces. To get off on the right foot with all of them, as he had always managed to do so far.

* * *

Peña had used the afternoon to read - about the Defiant class, about his crew, the mission, about their route and Asalooq. The political situation in the sector seemed calm, but potentially complicated, with numerous actors in play. He had planned his briefing to the wardroom; it would mostly have to be an order to inform themselves, because ultimately, Peña could not prescribe how well they had to know what aspect of their mission and its place. Now, he had enough of reading, and he had timed that quite well. It was soon to be 1900 and time for the meeting with the XO. He rose, took two steps and stood before the small, narrow window slit. The ship's warp reactor was already active, because Engineering had to check it thoroughly before undocking. Captain Peña intended to leave DS9 after the meeting was concluded. His senior officers could do the undocking and maneuver the ship through the relatively thick traffic around the station, and then, chiefs and (even more) junior officers could stand the night watch. He expected to travel calmly, because they would follow a route never far from the next Federation world for the first four days of their journey. Maybe he would even give one of the fresh Ensigns a chance to take a shift in the Captain's chair. They usually loved that, and it was a good opportunity to try them out a little bit without risking anything. Those plans came to Peña as if of their own accord, from experience and routine. How hard the job ( _any_ job, really) seemed when one first started it, and how much of it was easily handled with enough time on the job. He looked towards his workstation on the desk and didn't quite know what to expect. Lieutenant Commander Velna's attitude was hard to discern from her file - would she come early, eagerly? Or would she be late? It wouldn't tell him all that much, but it was still interesting, one tidbit in a sea of information.

Velna happened to do neither. She arrived right at 1900, the doorbuzzer sounding just as 1859 became 1900. Miguel had met a few officers with this degree of precision, but it might just have been coincidence. He rose to meet his XO. She was of medium height for a Bajoran, toned muscles filling out her uniform. She had rather big blue eyes, but their gaze was restrained. Her long blonde hair was tied back in a strict, even prim bun, revealing a right ear whose lower half was almost missing. The skin and cartilage were clean and pink, but the mutilation was more than evident. She could be striking, thought Miguel, who had been quite sensual in his early Starfleet years, which proclivity had mellowed to a quiet appreciation of beauty and charisma. Why wasn't she, then? He couldn't quite say yet. But it was immaterial anyway. "Commander Velna. Welcome aboard, I'm Captain Peña. Do take a seat." "Thank you, Captain." She had a curious voice, Peña thought, as if unnaturally roughened. He guessed the voice was in a usual pitch range, but its owner used it in a peculiar way. She sat down and accepted green tea, but her posture seemed rather rigid, sitting at attention. "I have prepared the duty roster, sir," she announced, unbidden. "It's already on file, but not yet distributed."

The Captain nodded and gave himself a second to consider his answer. There was an awkwardness between them he had not anticipated. "You could of course make revisions, Captain, but it should go out tonight so people know when to go to bed." Peña smiled, having decided on his reply. "Nevermind, Commander. Distribute it." She looked at him without returning his smile. "Aye aye, sir," she said dispassionately. Miguel waited until she had typed in the order on her pad. "So…"

He had not found himself using that interjection in this way for a long, long time. There was so little response from her, her expression unreadable. She exuded strength, but also a strange sense of - nothing. He regretted not having an empath aboard. "What do you think of the crew, Commander?" She replied immediately, as if she had rehearsed the answer. "Two fresh Ensigns at CONN and OPS are something to look out for. Our tactical capabilities may be impeded while they learn. Lieutenant Kristiansen is capable, but has a reputation for rashness. Commander Roosevelt is our mainstay, a very reliable officer. Emeryx is an excellent physicist, but that does not necessarily mean he is a good science officer. Dr Eniyan is unremarkable, but supposedly a good doctor." Miguel blinked. That was information he could get (or rather, had in fact got) from their service records. "We both know their records, Ms Velna," he replied gently. "The question was a little imprecise - I meant to ask your opinion of them. Your evaluation from experience, perhaps." "We'll have to train the Ensigns hard. Issor did not do very well as a tactician and Dhawan has trouble organizing herself. Eniyan needs to learn to keep deadlines and to hand in reports in time. Roosevelt will especially be a challenge for me, veterans of his standing often think they have nothing left to prove. Emeryx is known to be difficult. We need to reinforce the idea that he is here for Starfleet, not the other way around." Velna reeled off, her voice unemotional but still somehow strained.

"Do you have anything positive to say about them all?" Miguel half-joked, a bit taken aback. "Except for Kristiansen and Eniyan, they're all diligent. We need to work on them, but they'll turn out well." The Captain found himself lost for words. She spoke of them like machines, or perhaps trained dogs. That style of leadership was discouraged in Starfleet, and where it wasn't, Peña thought it should be. The problem with that was this: he had to address it right away or Velna would run around with a notion that her attitude was acceptable, or worst, accept _ed_ by him. But how could he best do that? It would take some time to convince her. A forceful approach didn't seem to make much sense, because it would accentuate the friction between them and probably just push her into stubbornness. "Commander, let's not zero in on one idea of leadership at this point. There is no indication we're dealing with an incapable or unruly bunch here. We'll see how things develop and react accordingly." "I'd rather we had a clear plan, sir, a strategy on how to turn this into a functioning crew," Velna blurted out. Peña had to push back some impatience. "They aren't machine parts, Ms Velna, they're sentient beings. And that's how we need to deal with them - as people, being people ourselves," he said slowly, studiously keeping his tone calm and friendly. She shrugged, infuriating Peña much more than he liked. "I like to keep my distance from those under my command. It works better that way." "I did not say you should not do that, Ms Velna," said the Captain, barely keeping the exasperation out of his voice. "But a command relationship is ultimately just that, a relationship between people, and in those, we fare best by allowing ourselves to be people, even as leaders. Professional distance is good, but it should not be a reason to try and take our personality out of our work, because that is ultimately impossible and quite imprudent." _And if you knew that, you would have your own ship by now,_ Peña found himself thinking. "Please consider what I've said, Commander. A lot of people stand to benefit from that."

They turned to a number of administrative issues. Velna turned out to be a good administrator, and the Captain saw no reason to take away those duties from her. She clearly needed an ego boost, and trusting her was the best one he had to offer. When he had dismissed her to finalize her materiel for the briefing, the Captain did his best to dismiss the thought of his XO and her questionable leadership abilities. It was time to get to know the crew, and get off on the right foot with them.


	3. Chapter 3 - Hitting it off

p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt;"span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Arial; color: #000000; background-color: transparent; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"„No! What do you mean, a Defiant class? I'm not flying on a Defiant class again. I HATE the Defiant class! I'm supposed to be a counsellor at the Asalooq Starfleet Facility, not on a fucking gunboat! A Defiant needs a decorator, not a counsellor!" The young Human woman shouting thus shook her fist at the computer screen, her anger not muted by the fact that there was no one to in the room hear her or in fact, no one in particular at whom she was addressing herself. She looked at her orders in disgust, then slumped back in her chair. She knew better. It wasn't worth getting excited about, but she just /spanspan style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Arial; color: #000000; background-color: transparent; font-weight: 400; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"hated /spanspan style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Arial; color: #000000; background-color: transparent; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"the sort of food the small replicators aboard such ships served. It was an affront to civilization as a whole. No decent quarters, either, essentially humanoid shelves with a door. You couldn't even have /spanspan style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Arial; color: #000000; background-color: transparent; font-weight: 400; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"sex/spanspan style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Arial; color: #000000; background-color: transparent; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;" in them. She had tried on her first trip on one of those /spanspan style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Arial; color: #000000; background-color: transparent; font-weight: 400; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"things - /spanspan style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Arial; color: #000000; background-color: transparent; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"those weapons arrays with a crew compartment slapped on. She had still been with her Academy boyfriend then. Jamila smiled to herself. She had fond of her memories of Brian, even though their ultimate separation had been quite spectacular. She had even thrown something at him in rage – a cushion, yes, but it still wasn't exactly what you expected from a trained psychologist and a Starfleet officer. Brian had taken it in stride. He had known her well, Brian./span/p  
p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt;"span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Arial; color: #000000; background-color: transparent; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"Jamila sighed and grabbed her bags. Her "vacation" on DS9 was over, but at least, she had had the opportunity to gaze upon the marvels of Bajor, the most fascinating planet she had visited so far. She wondered how Asalooq was going to be, and along this line, her thoughts moved on to the new crew. So far, she had refrained from looking into them much deeper than names and rank and those awful portraits they put in your file. She wanted an uninhibited personal first expression, telling herself it was all for professional reasons. Actually, she just preferred meeting people in person to learning about them from ever-impersonal Starfleet files. The Captain certainly was a fascinating man, and there were a lot of intriguing young guns, and some of those old chiefs who could teach you more about life during lunch than some Psychology professors could in a whole Academy term./span/p  
p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt;"span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Arial; color: #000000; background-color: transparent; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"Lieutenant Junior Grade Jamila al-Qamari arrived aboard /spanspan style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Arial; color: #000000; background-color: transparent; font-weight: 400; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"U.S.S. Stanislav Y. Petrov/spanspan style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Arial; color: #000000; background-color: transparent; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;" a little late. She would bunk with the ship's Chief Medical Officer, a Bolian by the name of Eniyan. She found Eniyan already in their shared humanoid storage container. The counsellor almost gasped when the door opened in front of her and she saw Eniyan. The doctor was stunningly beautiful. Tall and slim, her skin a dark, healthy shade of blue, with exquisitely shaped long legs and the cutest little butt, which Jamila got a good long look at, because Eniyan was just bending over to rearrange her pants' legs. She turned around to face her colleague, and turned out to have a gently rounded, open face with an especially elegant nose. "Oh, hi! You're Counsellor al-Qamari, right? So nice to meet you! I'm Eniyan." Her voice was warm and friendly to Jamilas ears, and she found herself immediately liking her bunkmate for this trip. Eniyan extended a long-fingered hand with the short nails expected from a doctor and Jamila shook it. "Nice to meet you too. I'm al-Qamari, but call me Jamila, okay? I'd say I was glad to be here, but really, this isn't the way I like to travel." Eniyan chuckled as she checked the mirror to make sure her uniform collar was just right. "Who would? The /spanspan style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Arial; color: #000000; background-color: transparent; font-weight: 400; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"design /spanspan style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Arial; color: #000000; background-color: transparent; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"of these things. Just awful. Like they got an Andorian mudworm to do it." Jamila laughed happily and emphatically replied: "Isn't it, though? Really, really awful! But we're all getting surface quarters at Asalooq, right? I mean, I will anyway, because I'm officially just assigned to the Initial Mission, not /spanspan style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Arial; color: #000000; background-color: transparent; font-weight: 400; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"Petrov, /spanspan style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Arial; color: #000000; background-color: transparent; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"that's just a transportation arrangement, but my orders say I'm mostly to be responsible for you guys. Surface quarters! Won't it be great to be able to just open a window?" She found herself expelling a wave of words, almost rambling, but Eniyan didn't seem to mind. "Yes, we will be assigned surface quarters as well. I think it is actually illegal to make people live on a Defiant class." "If not, it should be!" interjected Jamila forcefully. "Definitely," Eniyan nodded. "It'll be nice, living on a planet. I thought they'd post me to a ship after I spent the last years on an outpost, but Asalooq is better – and really, the work is always the same for us. I guess it's the same for counsellors?" Jamila smiled and nodded in return. "Yeah, mostly. I suppose people's problems may differ here and there depending on which posting it is, but the essence stays the same. I was on a Sovereign class before, /spanspan style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Arial; color: #000000; background-color: transparent; font-weight: 400; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"Tenochtitlan/spanspan style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Arial; color: #000000; background-color: transparent; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;". A large crew, you learn a lot. I think they're sending another two counsellors along for the Initial Mission, for the civilians and assistance personnel." "I'll have a bunch of colleagues too," replied Eniyan. "There's a whole hospital to be staffed, and a teaching hospital it'll be, too." She looked at the wall terminal. "I'm sorry, Jamila, but I have to head out. Inventory. Have to see if all the tricorders are in the right place and whether I've got enough medication for all the terrible diseases the crew may catch on a six-day flight. I think the CO has already set a staff meeting for later tonight, so I guess I'll see you there?" Eniyan asked, smiling broadly at Jamila. "Yeah! I guess I'll unpack and see if I can sneak back to the station for a last decent meal." They shared a laugh and Eniyan left, leaving Jamila smiling blissfully. If more of /spanspan style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Arial; color: #000000; background-color: transparent; font-weight: 400; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"Petrov/spanspan style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Arial; color: #000000; background-color: transparent; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"'s crew were like Eniyan, she was in for a great tour of duty at Asalooq Starfleet Facility. /span/p 


	4. Chapter 4 - Back to Business, pt 1

Lieutenant Lillian Kristiansen left the runabout, thanking her young, Bajoran pilot, and cast a look around at the bustle of Deep Space Nine. Pretty interesting, really – officers and civilians from all kinds of species, busy with any number of different tasks. Add to that the station's illustrious history and it would have been worthwhile spending a couple of days here just to explore. Not that her schedule allowed it. She had gotten her orders pretty much last minute – typical, she thought; Starfleet was either too disorganised these days to do things properly or simply didn't care if they made things difficult for her – and figured she barely had time to settle into her quarters before things got serious. Well, at least she should manage quite easily to be on time for the meeting. Her briefing papers said the captain had scheduled it for 2000.

For a moment, she wondered what the captain would be like. At the moment, she didn't know much about him except for his name and that he was an older guy, possibly close to retirement or a quiet desk job. What that meant for the way he would approach this mission, she didn't know, nor did she have any clues about his personality.

On the other hand, it was easy enough to guess what he would think of her. They had made sure of that. One glance at her file and people thought they knew who they were dealing with. It still made her helplessly angry. Did you ever get used to that sort of thing? She didn't know – didn't really want to know, because as much as she hated the feeling of hurt, of anger, accepting what had happened seemed suspiciously like giving up.

"Stop brooding," she told herself. Taking another look at the directions, she quickly made her way towards the U.S.S. Stanislav Y. Petrov. When she entered the ship, it felt like homecoming. She wasn't sure if she ought to feel like that, but she did. Those months of killing time with "qualification projects", de-briefings and unimportant desk jobs had felt so pointless, and they had given her too much time to think. Besides, she had missed being in space.

Her quarters were pretty close to the bridge. They were small and far from luxurious. That, too, felt comfortingly familiar – her first ship, the U.S.S. Aquarius, had been a Defiant, too, assigned to various, mostly military missions close to Starbase XXVI. Those had been easier times in a way, despite the challenging missions and the learning curve. She pushed the thought aside.

According to her records, her roommate was going to be the Chief Engineer, a Lieutenant Commander some years her senior by the name of Jeroen Roosevelt. Human, she guessed from the name. He was out and about, so she'd meet him later, but he had obviously been to their shared quarters already since she could see some of his things neatly packed away. Well, she was in no hurry. There would be enough time to meet everyone. Usually, she would have looked forward to it. But knowing the kind of things that were said about her, she secretly dreaded it.

What was it about this day that made her thoughts go back to her past all the time? She really should stop that. She wouldn't have thought it, but as much of a relief as it was to finally have a proper assignment again – even if it was probably a frustrating and stupid one, chosen to either humiliate disgraced crew members or get them out of the way – it was scary, too. Would she even be able to handle it? All the new people who would think the worst of her. And the missions...

Briskly, she started to unpack, trying to keep herself busy. Afterwards, she went to the little bathroom to freshen up a bit, and by then it was almost time for the meeting. Lillian could see some of the younger officers already waiting nervously as she arrived. She gave an encouraging smile to a pretty, black-haired young Ensign who looked positively terrified and kept adjusting her already-immaculate golden uniform. Secretly, though, Lillian felt slightly jealous. Those youngsters, at least, had a chance to make a good impression. In her case, she guessed that neither arriving half an hour early with a whole stack of PADDs prepared, looking like a recruitment photo, nor sauntering in late and drunk, greeting everyone in Klingon, would have made much of a difference. It always came back to her file. Apparently, though, word had not gotten around to the younger officers. Otherwise, they wouldn't have reacted in such a friendly and respectful way...

* * *

Captain Peña made sure he visited the head before the briefing started. It was one of those things they never told you at the Academy - you simply could not appear calm and confident when you needed to pee. Also, embarrassingly, he recently needed to schedule some extra time for head calls. Maybe it was time he started on that therapy any human with male organs needed sooner or later, hormone replacement for prostate hyperplasia. He had heard that in earlier centuries, you had to have a doctor stick a finger up your … well, he was glad to live in his century.

He entered the Briefing Room in a good mood. Peña usually preferred to go in first, so as to greet the officers individually and maybe ask about their day, but with so many young ones in his lineup, he had decided to do things differently today. He entered last, as was the usual thing for the CO, and did so by the back door, so that their eyes would not immediately be all on him, making for a more relaxed atmosphere. The Ensigns, and, to his surprise, his well-seasoned Chief Engineer, tried to rise but he waved them down. He smiled as he sat down, folded his hands in front of him. "Good evening, folks! I'm Captain Miguel C. Peña, Commanding Officer, _U.S.S. Geneva_. This _is_ Geneva, right?" he asked jokingly. Counselor al-Qamari, Dr Eniyan, Emeryx and the little nervous OPS officer chuckled or smiled and the XO at least smirked a little. Even Chief Engineer Roosevelt, knowing such CO antics, wasn't above acknowledging the joke. CONN and Security, however, reacted not at all (CONN) or with a defined micro display of disdain/contempt. Peña had once learned about hardly controllable micro-expressions, which almost all humanoid species had in one form or another. He didn't dwell on why Lieutenant Kristiansen should be contemptuous of his joke, because the answer would have been speculative at best, but filed away the fact for later.

"Jokes aside - welcome to _U.S.S. Stanislav Y. Petrov_. As you can see from your briefing documents, your torpedo hull sized private spaces and the extremely tasteful interior furnishings, this is a Defiant class ship, of the 2374 production run. A decent enough vintage, but it has been known to show idiosyncratic calibration problems with the forward targeting scanners. We're not going to war, but I want OPS, Tactical and Engineering to keep an eye out for that. As to the somewhat clunky name of the ship - we're named for a 20th Century Earth military officer who saved what we know as humankind single-handedly, and did so by not following protocol and using his head. A good lesson in officers' ethics, people. So much for the ship, now to myself. I think you have a right to know what I expect from you. On my ships, big kid rules are in effect." Peña smiled around the table. "Starfleet thinks you can do your respective jobs. I happen to agree, and it would take some very hard evidence to convince me otherwise. I will stay off your back and leave room for you to exercise your judgment, in both meanings of the word 'exercise'. As for reports, I have two categories - the material ones and the administrative ones. The first ones I want on time, though I won't keelhaul you for being an hour late. Administrative reports I want early enough so I don't embarrass myself with Sector Command." Peña winked, hoping he had got the message across. The next bit was a bit more complicated, but very important. "I'm not big on protocol. Those who have read up on me know I came up through Science. I don't have a problem with people being familiar on my crew. Uniform regulations aren't holy writ, and it won't kill me to see you in civilian outfit off-duty. Just don't forget your comm badge. I expect everyone to speak their minds, collar jewelry notwithstanding. Work together, respect your shipmates. Duty is supposed to be a job and we do have a hierarchy here, but it doesn't have to be all stuffy and formal. Dinner invitations to the Captain may result in fewer night shifts. Also, anyone who calls me Mickey will be put to death by hot poker." The Captain chuckled as the mock gravity in his voice made his officers look up. "If you have any problems, talk to me. I've been around the block, as evidenced by my lack of hair, and I love nothing better than to help out with something. That goes especially for you young Ensigns," he added in the direction of Dhawan and Issor, who seemed beyond shy. Dhawan didn't look at Issor at all, too. They couldn't have managed to start a row with each other already? "There's no rule against enjoying duty while doing a good job." Many Captains liked to mention how they would listen, but their word was final. Miguel found it rather ridiculous to mention that, because it was actual, written law and thus not worth the breath. "I'd like us to get to know each other. We're not our posts, we're people, let's not forget that." He smiled again. "Now, I'm afraid we can't go straight to synthale and chitchat. We have six days to Asalooq and you'll have more briefing material on your hands than you can handle, but I'll fill you in on our general mission now."

He gestured and the presentation screen behind him lit up, showing a tactical star chart of the Asalooq sector. "Starfleet Engineering has prepared a facility for us on the surface of Asalooq 4, aptly named Asalooq Starfleet Facility. They'll eventually set up an orbital station, but that will take time. We have three roles: we're ASF's station ship for odd jobs of all kinds, we're Asalooq Sector Command's only capital ship, and we're part of the Initial Mission to Asalooq, so we might get to help civilian authorities as well as the Starfleet post with their respective jobs. We'll have to do a lot of cartography missions, but also strategic patrols and more in-depth survey jobs, because there are a lot of valuable resources in that sector. As per regulations, we won't be in space for more than six weeks at a time, but most of the missions should be under a week. When we park Petrov at ASF, you'll be on limited duty with the Initial Mission as needed, but we'll also have to do most of our own maintenance as well as keeping up a skeleton crew depending on the degree of readiness ordered. All of us except Dr Eniyan and Lieutenant al-Qamari will take turns commanding that skeleton crew. The two ladies might join our crew when they get their bridge qualifications, so we all have incentive to help them along, because it'll mean more days off," Peña explained with another wink. He had a definite positive vibe with the Counselor, a charming young lady from the Moon. "I plan to get underway tonight before bedtime, so to speak. The regular duty rotation starts off at 0800 instead of 0600, so whoever is on Alpha with me has a short shift tomorrow, congratulations." He hadn't forgotten that both Dhawan and Issor were on Alpha shift, but he wasn't going to make them extra-nervous by pointing it out. "I'm usually in my ready room until 1700 or so, but on a Defiant, that's actually farther away from the bridge than what passes for quarters here, so you can always find me. I'll be on the bridge for the undocking, but Commander Velna will be in charge."

Miguel paused, giving everyone the chance to take a few notes and let all the information sink in a little. "I'm sure we all have some hoops to jump through before we get underway. Let's ascertain the ship is ready first. Mr Roosevelt - tell us what you need from the rest of us," he ordered, his tone as relaxed as ever. He had undocked a ship countless times, but it was always good to establish a good communicational structure early on.

* * *

A less experienced officer might have been uncomfortable or unprepared, being put on the spot like that, but fortunately, Lieutenant Commander Jeroen Roosevelt, Chief Engineer of the _U.S.S. Stanislav Y. Petrov_ , had a fifteen-year career to look back on. Thus, he was well prepared. He cast a look around. Everybody seemed to listen attentively. Good. The crew was making a positive impression so far, a little inexperienced and nervous, certainly, but they appeared eager enough, which was something.

Hardly consulting his PADD, Jeroen explained: "The Warp Core is working within normal parameters and hasn't caused any trouble so far. Of course, we can't be quite certain it's in good working order before we actually get an opportunity to fly, but all the readings are looking fine so far. We've had some issues with the energy conduits over the last days, but it was nothing too worrisome and it seems to be under control now, although I'd ask everyone to keep an eye on it and report anything out of the ordinary immediately. The sensors seem to be working as intended, too, although we'll have to run some field tests later. Environmental control is all nominal, although there may be some software issues with the temperature regulation – if you come across anything of the sort, please inform Engineering at once, we'll take care of it."

He paused, looking around. His speech hadn't been funny or inspiring like the Captain's, just a lot of information, but so far, everybody still seemed to be listening. Good. Jeroen continued with a final important announcement: "So, as you have heard, our systems should, for the most part, work pretty smoothly throughout our journey. However, the calibrations for most of them are not yet what they should be. We're working with factory defaults for the most part, which is serviceable enough to get us going, but far from efficient for day-to-day business. Therefore, I need your help – particularly that of the CONN, OPS and Science officers since they work with so many different systems on a daily basis. Please send me regular user reports and make sure to note anything that is not working as intended, or even anything that you think could be more efficient. My team and I need some feedback to work with so we can get the best out of this ship's systems."

When he had ended, the Captain nodded and said: "Thank you, Mr Roosevelt. Everybody else, you have heard what our Chief Engineer has just said and I want to emphasize that I'm counting on you to give him the best possible data to work with. This way, we can use the trip to Asalooq as an opportunity to get everything aboard this ship in the best possible working order."

Jeroen considered the Captain for a moment. Certainly a likeable man, he thought. A competent officer, too. He didn't just have an admirable service record – Jeroen had taken the time to look up the public version of his commanding officer's file on the way here –, but, more importantly, he seemed to be extraordinarily good at establishing a rapport with the crew. That sort of thing was always admirable, as well as highly useful in ensuring the mission's success.

Jeroen was, however, a little concerned about Peña's repeated insistence that he would take it easy when it came to matters of protocol. Well, he had started his career as a scientist, and scientists tended to be a little more laid-back about that sort of thing. However, Jeroen preferred things to be done properly. In his experience, even the seemingly pointless rules were there for a reason. Besides, a crew, particularly one as young and inexperienced as this one, needed to learn discipline. He hoped Peña wouldn't be too lax.

Well, there was time enough to find out. It would certainly be wise to keep an eye on this, but so far, Jeroen had seen no reason for outright alarm. Peña wouldn't have gotten where he was if he didn't know what he was doing. Besides, Jeroen was looking forward to this mission for multiple reasons – professional as well as private ones – and it would have taken a lot more to diminish his high spirits.

Jeroen directed his concentration back to the meeting at hand. It was just in time since Peña was, in turn, addressing the doctor. "Doctor Eniyan, how is the status of the sickbay and the medical supplies, and are there any medical problems concerning the crew that might prevent us from launching as planned?," he asked. Jeroen knew that this was mostly a mere formality – in all his career, he hadn't actually experienced a situation when the doctor had delayed a ship's launch for such a reason – but, obviously, it was very important to be able to respond to medical emergencies, so the question had to be asked.


	5. Chapter 5 - Back to Business, pt 2

Dr Eniyan was glad she had, for once, done things in time. Her inventory was at least cursorily updated, and she had thoroughly checked the important things like emergency medication stocks. Having served on an outpost before, she wasn't too happy with the capabilities of this sickbay, but at least she knew there would be a proper hospital at ASF (at least one, she thought) and it was only a week to go. She smiled nonchalantly at the Chief Engineer. "Well, unless one of you has any new medical problems to report, we're fine on that front," she replied. The CONN officer definitely had one sickness, though, a complete funny-bone atrophy, but there was no cure for that. At least, cute Counselor al-Qamari smiled, and Eniyan went on. "As far as my tools go, they all seem to work. Consoles go beep, scanners go wewewewe, lights are on, assistants are happy and my supplies are as good as they're going to get on a Defiant." It was her first posting as a CMO, and only her second posting, but really, she had nothing to worry about. At OP40, she had conclusively proven her ability to treat patients, and that was really all there was to her job. "We're good to go from my side, Captain." Peña (he seemed nice, Eniyan thought) nodded and went on. "Thank you, Doctor. We have sort of a guest on board, Counselor Jamila al-Qamari, who isn't permanently assigned to us because there's no spot for a Counselor on a Defiant, but she will be mainly there for us and this ship's crew. Oh, and while we're on health - please spare Dr Eniyan and me the rigmarole of dodging your checkups. It's become something of a fashion to do that, but I don't like it. Let's all be adults and good examples for the NCO's, people. Lieutenant Kristiansen - how are the tactical systems? And will we have to stock up on personal weapons when we get to Asalooq?" Eniyan eyed Kristiansen. She was clearly a physically strong woman, tall, muscular and with the watchful gaze of those who have seen a little of the universe's darker, or to put it optimistically, more exciting side. But there was some insecurity to her. No one (except maybe Klingons) projected so much toughness and really meant it. Eniyan wondered about Kristiansen's story as she ignored the Security Officer's answer (the doctor was on the other end of the weapons' business, after all).

* * *

Lillian had expected to be asked to deliver her report together with the other heads of department, so she wasn't surprised. However, she still felt a certain amount of tension. It annoyed her because she had done it before, dozens, possibly hundreds of times, and hadn't felt nervous or insecure about it for years. But this was the first time since... well, she was out of practice, and too many things had happened that had made her doubt herself and those around her, and now, in the worst possible moment, she found out it affected her more than she had thought.

Besides, she was nothing if not under-prepared. Thanks to whoever had botched her travel schedule, she had had no time to familiarise herself with the ship, its systems or her team before going to the meeting. Therefore, she had not been able to get any proper status reports. Anticipating just this situation, she had done whatever she could remotely – thankfully, her computer credentials for that sort of thing had been set up much more quickly than she herself had arrived – but that only got you so far. 'Well, it's not as if it's going to make much difference. Nobody is going to expect anything good of me, anyway,' she thought.

Resigning herself to the situation, she began: "Well, the on-board security systems are, for the most part, working nominally. The phaser banks and torpedo launchers have passed all the usual tests successfully and we have got a full stock of photon torpedoes on board - no quantum torpedoes, so far, although the necessary systems are in place and seem to be in working order. The computer systems are online as well, although I have to say pretty much the same as Lieutenant Commander Roosevelt: both our internal security systems and our targeting sensors are working with default calibrations and are bound to be less efficient than they could be. My team and I will be working on it during our voyage to Asalooq, but if any of you has helpful feedback or suggestions, we'll be very grateful."

Well, that hadn't gone too badly. At least she didn't seem to have forgotten all her skills over her enforced break. She was, indeed, optimistic that with a couple of days of good work, Petrov would be pretty well-prepared for whatever problems she was going to meet. Well, if one could ever be. In any case, the ship seemed to be in good working order. And ever since her time on Aquarius, she had trusted the Defiant class. They were sturdy and tough and had pretty much all the systems that made a security officer happy. She didn't think the Science department would be as impressed, but in terms of combat capabilities, they were well endowed.

"As for your question about the handheld weapons, Sir," she continued, addressing the Captain, "It does indeed seem as if we could be a little better prepared. We have got enough standard phasers for everyone, but when it comes to phaser rifles, we don't even have enough to equip my own people, let alone everyone else who might need one. We're also a little short on reserve energy cells and spare parts for our weapons. I would suggest we try to get some more supplies as soon as we've got the opportunity."

* * *

Velna Coryn had tapped her fingers on her knee as Kristiansen spoke. She seemed smart enough, but was it really necessary to start complaining as soon as one got aboard? Coryn decided against mentioning it at this point, but if Kristiansen could climb any higher on her attention list, she had just done so. „We may be able to get some personal weapons and equipment from the SGCE assigned to Asalooq. They are about 400 strong and should have ample supplies," Velna replied quietly. „But we are stationed in a remote sector. We should not expect to get the best and the most," she added coolly. And of course, another disapproving glance from the CO. Why did he have to insist on mollycoddling people? Velna preferred straight talk. "Quantum torpedoes are another matter. I checked with Outlying Regions' S-4, and they told me there are none to be had. We should re-learn to work with Photons anyway, Tactical Officers have become way too dependent on Quantum," Coryn added defensively. Why exactly she was feeling defensive she didn't know, but she did, and rightly so. Kristiansen appeared to want to answer, but the Captain intervened. "For now, the tactical threat level is very low for our sector. Lieutenant," he ordered, addressing Kristiansen, "I want you to liaise with one Commander Parker-Takeno on Asalooq; he is CO of the SGCE, already in position and we might as well find out now what he has to offer. Also, there is obviously a security complement aboard our transport. It might be worth knowing how well-stocked they are." Peña smiled. "Most of us have seen short supplies in the past. We'll get what we need. Now, on to other business … Dr Emeryx, our mission has a strong exploratory and cartography element. What should we look for to make your job easier?" Coryn was already annoyed beyond belief with her CO. Scientists! They were going to the frontier, where a Borg cube or anyone could just appear from nowhere and attack, and he was calling checking out a few planets a "strong exploratory element". What an old geezer.

Doctor Emeryx had been wondering when it would be his turn to deliver their report – and how the Captain would address them, whether he would be respectful of them and their scientific goals, or not. As it was, Pena's appreciation of the mission's scientific importance made him rise quite a bit in Emeryx' opinion, as did his question about what help the Science Department needed. Well, after all, he had been a scientist himself before his command career – an anthropologist, if Emeryx remembered correctly, but still, it could have been worse. Maybe the Science department would, for once, get the respect and the resources it needed and deserved. Well, as far as that was possible on a Defiant class ship. Emeryx still couldn't quite get over that choice. But if the Captain was willing to put a bigger focus on scientific exploration, that was something.

"Well, Sir, my team have given our systems a thorough check and they're working as expected – which isn't saying much in this type of vessel, but I guess we should still be grateful, after all we don't have any system problems to deal with on top of everything else," Emeryx began, before realising that they were getting carried away and continuing, somewhat more optimistically: "Well. As you have already said, Sir, when we get to the Asalooq sector we will be doing a large number of astro-physics and other scientific missions. Mainly, however, we will be doing a lot of cartography. Our maps of the Asalooq sector are very incomplete at this point and even the sections that have been cartographed already lack quite a lot of detail, so that will be one of our top priorities. Therefore, our main focus will be on the scientific long-range sensors. Apart from improving the software in cooperation with the Engineering Department, as Mr Roosevelt has already suggested, I would like to carry out extensive tests over the next days. It would be very helpful if the bridge crew, particularly the OPS Officer, could assist us with that."

Emeryx was looking for a moment at the OPS Officer, a young Ensign – a human female, they saw, their ability to pick up that type of detail having gotten much better over the last years – who seemed positively terrified about the attention. Somehow, Emeryx doubted that she was going to be very much help, but they would have to wait and see. She might yet surprise them.

"Would that be possible, Sir?," the Doctor asked the Captain politely, turning their attention away from the inexperienced OPS Officer. After all, it was the commanding officer's job to give permission for that kind of thing. Emeryx was, however, feeling quite optimistic that Pena would grant their wish, after all, the Captain, too, was a person of learning...

* * *

Myra hadn't exactly felt comfortable during the entire meeting, but being addressed directly by the Science Officer like that added another dimension of anxiety. She had felt comforted by the knowledge that, unlike the proper heads of department, the OPS Officer didn't usually have to say much during this kind of meeting. But apparently, that didn't mean she could rest easy. She could almost physically feel the Science Officer's piercing grey gaze on her, felt like she was being judged and found wanting. It wasn't a comfortable feeling. She wondered whether she ought to say something, but her mind was completely blank, so she stayed silent.

Fortunately, after what felt like an eternity, Lieutenant Emeryx' attention turned back to the Captain, asking him for permission to have the crew help with their sensor test. "Certainly, Doctor. Let us get settled in and make sure that everything is in good working order first. But as soon as that is done, we'll run your test. I will let you know when I think it's a good time," the Captain said in his calm way. The head of Science Department hesitated for moment and Myra half expected them to voice an objection, but after a while, they nodded, seeming not impressed but, for the moment at least, reasonably satisfied. "Very well. Thank you, Sir," they said. Myra was very relieved. She had feared that if there was going to be a discussion, she would be drawn into it. Lieutenant Emeryx seemed to expect... something... from her. She wasn't quite sure what it was. Support? She was the least experienced person at the table. Well, except Ensign Issor, who, incidentally, didn't look too happy, either, but she really didn't want to think about Issor now. She had spent the entire meeting avoiding his eyes.

Soon afterwards, the meeting, to Myra's relief, came to a close. Another difficult situation she had survived without a catastrophe. Now she only wanted a hot shower and some quiet time to continue her letter and possibly read a book. There was, however, the problem of having to share her accomodation with a person who seemed to hate her guts, she realised belatedly. Suddenly, the idea of retiring to her quarters didn't seem quite as appealing any more.

* * *

When the meeting was finished, Lillian fled the scene as quickly as possible, not because the meeting had been so terrible – in fact, it had gone better than she had expected, although that wasn't saying much – but because she really didn't feel like talking to the other officers. It might have been a little awkward. 'So, what did you do before being assigned to Petrov?' - 'Oh, I was on trial for getting half my away team killed.' - 'That's nice, I met a guy on USS Berlin who did that, too, he told great stories about a really charming penal colony in New Zealand...' No, she could really do without that.

Back in her quarters, Lillian finished some reports. They weren't particularly urgent, but they passed the time. Her roommate, Lieutenant Commander Roosevelt, had stayed behind chatting to some colleagues, apparently not sharing Lillian's misgivings about mixing with the other officers, and had so far failed to turn up. Lillian was just fine with that. One less person she had to discuss her past with. She did feel a little lonely, working on her own while everyone else was getting to know new people, but it was much better than the alternative.

At some point between the third and fourth report, Lillian noticed that she was getting tired. It was only around eleven PM, but she had had a very long day travelling, raising at five AM, and quite a lot of new things to take in, and it was beginning to tell. She wasn't crazy about going to sleep, even less in shared quarters. There was no way of knowing if the nightmares would come back. But she knew she had to be sensible, had to be rested the next day. Her job was going to be difficult enough without being tired. Therefore, she quickly got out of her uniform, stretched out on her bed, and soon after, she was fast asleep.

When she started her duties the next morning, she was feeling more optimistic than she had in a while. A good night's deep, untroubled sleep contributed hugely to that. Besides, it felt good to be going to work again. While she completed some routine tasks, mostly reading and filing away her subordinates' reports, she thought a little about the other officers.

The captain, despite his jokes which convinced exactly nobody that he was fun and easy-going and not threatening, had made a rather good first impression on her. He seemed to know what he was doing, which was more than could be said for the majority of commanding officers these days. Besides, he had treated her with respect in yesterday's meeting, which was heartening even though he had probably faked it. Lillian was not going to trust him – and she harboured no illusions that he certainly wasn't going to trust her, either – but she thought she could get along with him without too much trouble.

The XO, however, seemed to disapprove of pretty much anything one of the other officers, and Lillian, in particular, did. Lillian had thought that she could get along with Velna since she, too, had made a career in security, but Velna's behaviour at the meeting had quickly made her change her mind.

Emeryx had seemed both nerdy and a little too convinced of their own importance, Eniyan funny and kind, but neither concerned Lillian very much since she probably wouldn't have too much to do with them. Her roommate, Lieutenant Commander Roosevelt, seemed to be one of those super-correct types, someone who honestly still believed that in 2385, following Starfleet Protocol was going gain you anything else than a rude awakening when you noticed that nobody else did. It irritated Lillian, but she told herself it didn't really matter. She had enough other problems.

Lillian pushed the thoughts about her fellow officers aside, forced herself to concentrate on the reports. When they were finished, she set on dealing with their weapons shortage. Thinking about it immediately made her good mood partially evaporate. She had tried to make light of it during the meeting, but in fact, it was a disgrace. It confirmed her suspicions that this was a mission for people who were either no good, disliked by everyone, or too stupid, inexperienced, or both, to realise they were being played for fools. She would have to see if she belonged into category A or B… Either way she didn't really want to think about what was going to happen if they ran into real trouble in the Asalooq sector. Besides, it all reminded her of Velna and her arrogant disapproval of her. Lillian wasn't sure what exactly she had done wrong, but it had been obvious that Velna disapproved of... something. Her arrogant response to the lack of quantum torpedoes, implying that not just was Lillian an incompetent fool, but her whole department was full of them, as well, was just the icing on the cake.

Lillian forced herself to stay calm. Confronted with a first officer who didn't like her and a ship that might not be able to hold her own in combat, the latter was without a doubt the more serious problem. Thus, she would do her best to solve the weapons problem and try to ignore Velna, as much as it was possible to ignore the First Officer.

First, Lillian contacted the transport vessel that was accompanying them to their destination. When she had explained her problem, the security officer on the other end of the connection stated: "Well, we don't have any torpedoes, but we've got a crate of various hand-held equipment, including energy cells and some explosives, which we could spare. We'll transfer it as soon as possible."

The station on Asalooq was still too far away for a video call, but Lillian sent them a text message. About a quarter of an hour later, she got back a response stating that they didn't have any torpedoes, either, but would be able to equip Petrov's crew with twenty additional phaser rifles. It was probably better than nothing. Lillian wrote back a message thanking the station's crew and gratefully accepting their offer, then typed up a report informing the Captain of what she had – and hadn't – achieved.


	6. Chapter 6 - Those Rolling Hills

Smiling, the Captain stepped onto Petrov's bridge. Ensign Issor, nervous as he was, noticed him first. „Captain on the bridge!" Everyone turned towards Peña, and he cheerily waved them all back to work. The XO reeled off her routine, and Teldac, turning back to his console, felt his pulse start to race. "All hatches are closed, crew and officers present and accounted for, ship's systems are ready for undocking, all posts manned, sir." "Thank you, Ms Velna. Take us out and set course for Asalooq, warp … Ensign Issor, what's the maximum cruise speed for our transport ship?" Teldac jumped. Fortunately, the two ship's computers had exchanged information, following some standard prodecure Teldac was immensely grateful for at this moment. "Warp 6.5, sir." "Thank you. We don't want to be late, so signal them that's going to be our speed for the time being." In the way of CO's, the order was addressed to nobody in particular, but Teldac was relatively sure this wasn't his job. To his relief, frantic beeping from the OPS station told him he was right.

Velna took command. Issor's heart hat already sunk at Peña's order to do so. The crew were all complete strangers to him, even though he could now consider himself introduced to the other officers ( _I am a Starfleet officer,_ he thought, panicking), but at least Peña's attitude was friendly. Velna, in contrast, seemed extremely unhappy. He had long known that most humanoids did little to hide their emotions, at least when compared to his own people. Issor also had the impression something about him bothered Velna, but he could not tell what. Maybe it was just her doubts in his abilities, which at this point, she was bound to have. After all, he had never, ever done this. He hoped his ancestors would not forsake him, even if his parents had defied Tashaneton, the Asalooq moral code, in conceiving him…

"CONN, release docking clamps. Maneuvering thrusters 50% reverse." "Release docking clamps, thrusters 50% reverse, aye," Issor confirmed in a strangely high-pitched voice, blood pulsing in his ears. He managed to get the order of the instructions wrong and fired up the thrusters before releasing the clamps, which caused a shrill beep of protest from his console. He quickly released the clamps and DS9's docking ring seemed to drift away on the main screen. "Report, Ensign!" snarled Velna, her mood fouler than Issor had expected. "I… I just fired the thrusters early and the computer warned me. I've got things under control now, ma'am." A snort was his answer and he felt his head reddening. Recommended distance for the turn was twice the length of the ship. During his exchange with Velna, he had long-since passed that distance and the thrusters had accelerated _Petrov_ far more than was standard procedure. He killed the thrusters and turned the ship to the exit course DS9 flight control was giving him. "Undocking complete, holding exit course. Ready for warp in sixty seconds, ma'am."

Thankfully, nobody expected Teldac to do anything fancy. They safely reached their jump-off point. "All systems to cruise mode," Velna ordered. Teldac knew from some manual that this order was optional, but with OPS and CONN so young, he understood why she would give it. Thankfully, he had prepared a course to Asalooq already, and when she gave the order to go to warp, he was ready. He watched anxiously for any trouble, but _Petrov_ accelerated with the swiftness of a ship very light for its engines. Warp 6.5 appeared on his console and stabilized as expected, and the navigation sensors showed SAV-332 in safe distance and on a matching course. "Course and speed stable," Issor reported, relief much too obvious in his voice. "Very well," Peña himself acknowledged. "Good job for a first time, Ensign," he added. "Commander, you have the bridge. Keep the senior officers at their posts until you're satisfied everything is going well. Good night, everyone!" A few voices answered, but Issor was much too relieved to say anything. He had not screwed up completely, he was on his first mission, and six days away from returning to his home world...

* * *

Those rolling hills. Eddie smiled. He had only been on Asalooq for a week and he had already fallen in love with the place. ASF was a thing of beauty, almost like SFHQ in San Francisco or the Presidential Palace in Paris. From the higher buildings, you could see all of the Asalooq "Council City", a growing mesh of the old and the new, sitting at the center of the oldest road network on Asalooq's Buwath continent, and right on the coast with its glittering beaches and water the color of translucent fresh grass. It was odd, seeing a city with an actual dust dome above it. The Asalooq still used a lot of combustion technology and it showed. Eddie had only ever heard of such things, having grown up on Mars. But his father, an engineer, had told him about old technology, and Eddie had always asked himself how people could bear the thought that their very air was poisoning them, and only because of their technology. Asalooq was luckier than Earth, he thought. Their technology had started to advance before it could take their ecosystem to the brink of destruction. He remembered a History class at the Academy: most historians now thought that the Third World War had its main root in the fight over the remaining fossil fuels. Asalooq had not needed something as terrible as those forty-eight hours of thermonuclear holocaust and something as lucky as the arrival of the Vulcans to find peace. But the Asalooq did not number more than three billion, on a planet similar to Earth, while humanity, just before the Third World War, had welcomed its ten billionth member. Asalooq was much more pristine than Earth had been then or ever since, for even if modern civilization conserved Earth to a remarkable degree, large swathes of land were inhabited, with very little wilderness left.

Eddie loved the hills the most. They were not high, but majestic, like swells in an ocean, knowing they did not have to rage, because nothing could impede their force. There were fields of Chula, the mainstay of Asalooq sustenance, but there were also the endless forests, changing from palms to larger, more demanding trees. The picture was not dissimilar to other tropical jungles, but somehow less imposing, less overpowering. The ruins of an ancient fortification throned on one of the hilltops, guarding the approaches to the Council City. Eddie planned to explore it at some point, but for now, he was under orders to keep his roughly 400 Starfleet ground troops inside their barracks until the Initial Mission arrived, which was to happen the next day. The Asalooq didn't seem to mind, had cleared his troops and equipment through what passed for orbital traffic control here and left him alone. Eddie had his people working at setting up training and duty routines while they waited for contact to be established with the planned Asalooq Planetary Defense Forces. Every UFP member planet was responsible for defence in case of a planetary invasion (though Starfleet would assist as much as possible, of course) and maintained its own military, which could be federalized in emergencies but would never be obliged serve outside its own star system. Most planets had some form of a militia system, and some in safe areas had only a lightly armed disaster response force. Asalooq, exposed as it was, would have to have a serious, heavily mechanized army, and the troops trained and advised by Eddie and his formation would be its nucleus. So far, Eddie had little idea what awaited him, but he wasn't too worried. He would get the job done. His GCE was a fine force, well-honed for months at the training center on one of Bajor's moons. And his people would be happy – it was always nice to be stationed on a planet, and no soldier worth their salt loved anything better than to train, in decent holosimulators (which were high on Eddie's equipment demand list but wouldn't arrive too soon) or actual field exercises. He would have free time, though, and so would his officers and noncoms. Their duties ended administratively at 1700, and because Eddie had a well-organized staff, that rule would not be a fiction all of the time.

"Commander?" Eddie woke from his musings at the voice of his Chief of Staff, Lieutenant Esther Lazarova and turned away from the fenced edge of the HQ building's roof. "Yes, Esther?" "Lieutenant Varrak wants to know if he can run an assault ex on habitat tower C tonight. It's empty and he says his guys haven't done building assault recently." "Those recon nuts… tell him yes, but SimWeps only, and don't break anything! No breaching doors and such. Also tell him I want to watch," he added with a smile. It was always fun, seeing Varrak's elite platoon at work. They were nominally a reconnaissance unit, but they had developed capabilities usually attributed to Special Operations assault troops. They might not as precise as units specializing in that area but Eddie still slept easier knowing that, should the need ever arise, he had a small cadre of soldiers who could do deep raids, targeted hits on high value targets, and even _in extremis_ hostage rescue. "Aye sir. Anything else?" Lazarova asked. "No, Lieutenant. You take your half-day off. Tomorrow, the transport arrives, I think it'll be the last time for a while."

Eddie looked up to the sky as Lazarova retreated. It was a pretty shade of greenish blue here. From that sky, the Initial Mission personnel would descend tomorrow, and then, work would begin. Also, his people would share guard and security duties at ASF with the Mission's security element, freeing up time for training with the Asalooq. He had browsed the personnel files for people he knew, but there weren't any, even if he had heard some names, gotten wind of some service reputations. Commander Edward Takeno (his official name was much longer, reflecting his eclectic family background) walked back to his office to give the last orders for the honour guard stand-to planned for the arrival of ASF's station ship, _Stanislav Y. Petrov_. Then, he retired to his quarters to record a few letters to parents, siblings and cousins, of which he had a rather large number. He hoped he would find time to read their replies, and respond again himself …


	7. Chapter 7 - Utter Chaos

Takeno barely had a chance to curse before the comm system started to go absolutely nuts. "SAV-332 to ASF, who the hell is in charge down there?" thundered a human male voice. "Commander Edward Parker-Takeno, CO SGCE-409, and I don't appreciate your tone, Mister!" Eddie had no use for screamers, but he knew very well how to deal with them. They all seemed to end up in the Ground Combat arm. "Commander Leonard Robinson, I'm CO of this whole damn post. Did that damned Deffie just botch the landing?" It was all Eddie could do to keep from laughing. "She sure did, Commander. Looks like she's down safe, but there's a shitload of dust in the air. Came in too shallow as far as I could tell." "Look, I'll be down in a minute. Get your people moving right the hell now and secure the perimeter around the hangar pit. There's bound to be spectators and I don't want them anywhere near that fence. Come to the main HQ. I'll be working from there. Hell, just beam over, no time to lose. We need to check out a thousand things and I'll need you. Get that perimeter up, Commander!" "I'm at ASF HQ, sir. Waiting for you. Takeno out."

The channel closed and Takeno allowed himself a shared grin with this staff officers before he started dishing out orders. He had his A Company out for perimeter security on foot and started to have them beamed to positions in the dust cloud currently hiding Petrov and the landing pit. B Company was securing main HQ and other key installations as unobtrusively as possible, such as the garages for SGCE-409's vehicles and the access points to the underground tunnels connecting the landing pit and the HQ building. His Recon and Weapons platoons were his "reserve", about another company of warm bodies he could throw at any new or forgotten problem. Of course, none of his units were about in their combat vehicles. He had ordered sidearms only and that was what everyone was carrying. The SGCE soldiers didn't even have phaser rifles, let alone the heavier combat weapons. There was no cause to go heavy, and now, with intensified Asalooq focus on ASF, it was a very good idea to present not too martial an image. Armored vehicles and crew-served weapons were the definition of martial, and so they were kept in storage. When the orders were out and Robinson's people were materializing all over the command center in the basement of the HQ building, he tapped into the command circuit for his unit. "All units, Midas 6 Actual. Petrov has landed safely, it's just dust. Spread the word, ladies and gentlemen. I don't want any rumours about. And tell your troops to keep calm, nothing has happened."

For that last sentence, Eddie received a punishing look from the Civil-Military Relations Officer, a Betazoid woman already looking harried and talking to five people at once. He watched the media channels. The video of the dust cloud was going out live, which was bad - but the Betazoid apparently knew her stuff, because already, commentators started to relate that the first Starfleet capital ship to be based on Asalooq was safe, and an official statement was expected later.

Then, the bulky shape of Commander Leonard Robinson materialized directly in front of Eddie. He turned around and Eddie looked into the reddened face of a middle-aged human. "God, just what I needed. You're Takeno?" "Yes sir, welcome to Asalooq!" Eddie cheerily replied. "Damn, when I get my hands on whoever was flying that crate…! You got any ideas about how to settle that cloud as quickly as possible?" "No sir, sorry. I'm more in the making dust clouds department, really." Amused, Eddie thought he heard Robinson grumble "Smartass!" as he turned to yell at his staff officers to give him something to work with. Eddie grabbed his coffee cup from a nearby console before someone stole it, leaned against that same console and settled down to enjoy the show. What a great start - and how great that none of his people had screwed up in this way.

* * *

Myra had been enjoying the descent towards Asalooq. After all, she hadn't witnessed anything like it before, and Asalooq, that much she could already see, was a pretty planet, all green and inviting on Petrov's screen.

Her enjoyment, however, had come to a sudden and brutal end when, somehow, inexplicably, something went wrong with their flight vector. Myra's console had given a number of shrill beeps, making her wonder, for one awful second, if she had done anything catastrophically wrong. Soon enough, however, she had discovered that there had, indeed, been a mistake, but it hadn't been hers.

Confused, torn between shock and relief, she had looked at Ensign Issor, whose responsibility all this had to be – and had seen that he, indeed, appeared just as shocked as she would have been in his place. He had, however, managed to get Petrov down safely.

Now, they were standing still, a cloud of dust filling their entire screen and Myra's sensors still going haywire. "Report, Ensign," the Captain ordered, remarkably calm considering the circumstances. Issor managed to say something semi-coherent about an overly shallow flight vector. Myra felt deeply sorry for him. It was all too easy to imagine herself in his place. Despite her genuine sympathy, however, she also felt secretly, guiltily grateful that it had not been her.

Before she could ponder these less than virtuous feelings, however, Myra's communications panel began to fill with a whole number of notifications. While she was still trying to prioritise them, more and more appeared in the list. "Captain, I'm getting... well, it looks like dozens of calls and messages. Some of them are coming from the ship, but most seem to be from the planet, both from our own people and different Asalooq groups, including media outlets, as far as I can see," she reported. When the Captain didn't respond immediately, probably expecting her to know how to react, she prompted, feeling herself blushing: "Well, Sir, what... should I tell them?"

* * *

Peña sighed softly. This would cause way more chaos than it was worth, and certainly more than he wanted. "Ms Dhawan, please reply along these lines," he ordered gently. "The ship is down safely, no casualties. For an unknown reason, the vector on final approach was too shallow. Refer the media outlets and Asalooq officials to ASF's Civilian-Starfleet Relations officer. As far as our colleagues are concerned, send a 'busy' reply. Our crew – tell them to go back to work so we can get out of this tin can. I'll go to my ready room in a minute, put any Admirals through in order of precedence. XO, finish the landing sequence and dismiss the crew. Ms Dhawan, as soon as you're done with the communications, sign us off. Those messages should go to ASF anyway, not us. And stay calm, everybody. It's just a bag of dust."

Miguel would have liked to talk to Issor, or at least shield him somehow from Velna, but he couldn't be everywhere at once. The young buck would have to look out for himself – if the mistake had been his, but Peña knew it most probably was.

Shaking his head, he walked from the bridge to the starboard side of the ship, where the small window of his ready room showed the side of the landing pit and the first rays of light were already poking back through the slowly settling dust. He longed for proper quarters, for proper dinner with his wife and two youngest sons, but instead, he would now have to explain to Admirals how a blunder had occurred that would make the news on dozens of worlds.

Instead of the terminal on his desk, the larger screen on the wall lit up and showed not one, but three stern faces above framed golden pins. Peña recognized them all. There was Vice Admiral Maya Schneider, his commanding officer once removed at Starfleet Outlying Regions Command, Rear Admiral Enek, in charge of Starfleet Federation Members' Support Programs, and a full Admiral, Vince Lorraine, Commanding Admiral of Cardassian Border and Occupation Command. So Dhawan had not dared to make them wait.

"Good day, Admirals," Peña greeted them, having settled down in his chair. "What just happened?" blurted out Schneider. "Admiral, I can't say." It could be a malfunction after all, and he wouldn't throw Issor to the wolves like this. "But I'll report to you all as soon as I know." "Damn you, Mig!" growled Lorraine. "You made Starfleet look very foolish. This is a bad start for AICSM!" "And as you know, AICSM is my responsibility," Schneider interjected coolly. "And it's my responsibility to get the Cardassians to keep their noses clean after the occupation ends, Maya. Let's not forget this is a strategic sector we're talking about, and our only foothold there looks like it's run by first-year Science cadets!" Lorraine pontificated. "Maya, Mig, you need to get your people in line. We can't look this foolish!"

It was empty talk, Peña knew, and doubted Lorraine was motivated by his duties alone; with the upcoming end of occupation of the Cardassian Union, he stood to lose a lot of bureaucratic clout. At least Enek, a Vulcan, spared Peña a speech. The Captain patiently looked on as Schneider and Lorraine exchanged more heated, directionless words. Starfleet officers, he thought, used to be able to communicate effectively. This was just babbling – but as long as they were babbling, they weren't demanding he flog Issor, or …

"Peña," thundered Lorraine, "you need to fix your little ship right the hell now. Keep your people on board through the night and check what is wrong!" "Vince, you have no authority whatsoever to give that order," Schneider replied. "Don't give me that! There have to be consequences from this disaster!"

The Captain could barely keep from rolling his eyes. "It's a harmless dust cloud, Admiral," he stated calmly, letting the insignificance of the event hang in subspace between the four participants. "I do believe you are making hasty judgments from emotion," Enek chimed in, her voice a deep, serene contrast to the other two's bickering. "Embarrassment about inconvenient media reports is not a valid reason for precipitous action. Let Captain Peña and Commander Robinson determine any results from this flawed landing. Captain, you and Commander Robinson should assist the Asalooq in settling any dust as quickly as possible – both literally and figuratively speaking."

Admirals squabbled like ancient bureaucrats and Vulcans made puns. What was the world coming to, Peña asked himself as the discussion calmed down in the wake of Enek's reasonable words. He was glad for her intervention. With Schneider and Lorraine alone, he would have spent hours in this fruitless discourse.

As things went, he was able to pass the problem politely along to Robinson twenty minutes later and disembark from Petrov, leaving only a few Engineers behind for routine post-flight checks. The dust was a nuisance on his way to Habitat Tower C, but Peña still could see that ASF was a nice place, like a bit of Earth inserted between endless crop fields, only a mass transport rail and a road leading from here to Council City. There would be reports to generate later, but the sun was setting on this part of Asalooq, dovetailing nicely with Petrov's ship time, and he would see to it tomorrow. For today, all that was left was the party celebrating the beginning of AICSM.

* * *

Torn between surprise, anger and an entirely unsuitable feeling of amusement, Lillian looked at the dust cloud on their main screen. "Well, at least nobody can say we didn't make an effort to announce our presence here," she said, earning her yet another icy look from the First Officer.

Ensign Issor, the young CONN Officer, mumbled something about a shallow landing vector. 'Well, I was right about one thing: This is obviously where they send the competent officers,' Lillian thought. She saw Velna give Issor a look at least the equal of the ones she kept gracing Lillian with – looks that made a snow-covered January landscape in Lillian's Norwegian homeland look warm and inviting by comparison. Now, looking more closely, Lillian could see that Issor was mortified by his mistake, hardly in control. Her heart went out to him. She discovered that while she could care less about anyone wearing more than two pins at the moment, her instinct to protect and nurture young officers was still just as strong as it had always been. 'Except you can't protect them. Baxu V showed that clearly enough,' the little voice in her head commented, unbidden, as it so often did nowadays. Lillian, as usually, did her best to ignore it and concentrate on what was going on. The bridge was in ordered chaos – 'well, I do hope I'm right about the "ordered" part,' she thought – with everyone doing their best to deal with the after-effects of the botched landing.

Soon afterwards, the Captain left the bridge to deal with some irate Admirals via the com link in his ready room. Lillian had a bad feeling about that, although she knew that Peña probably didn't have much of a choice. Still, she didn't feel at all comfortable with Issor being left to Velna's tender mercies.

Her concerns were proved right soon after. Issor seemed to be frantically running some kind of diagnoses on his console, possibly trying to quantify the damage, or to find out what had gone wrong in the first place. At some point, he apparently entered some kind of faulty data – probably due to nerves, Lillian thought; the poor kid still looked ready to collapse –, causing his console to emit a shrill series of protesting beeps. Velna immediately took notice. Lillian couldn't quite catch what was being said, but she was quite sure she heard the words "duty", "officer" and "disgrace". She figured she could easily guess the rest.

When Velna had finished, Issor looked even more chagrined and terrified than before. Lillian decided it was time to step in. "Ensign Issor, as soon as you're done with these diagnoses, please report to Lieutenant Moneaux – she's in charge of the access controls. I think there is a problem with your security credentials and I'd rather it was fixed before we come back from the party later." Issor confirmed with something barely audible and soon after left the bridge. Velna gave Lillian another of those looks, but Lillian felt like she was almost getting used to them. Besides, this time, it had been for the greater good. There was indeed a problem with Issor's security credentials – she had personally made sure of that. You didn't spend as long in the security department as she had without learning a few tricks.

But all that was only a temporary workaround. Lillian knew that, as much as she hated the idea, she would have to confront Velna about her leadership style. Did she have to be so harsh on everyone's first day? Wasn't she able to see the poor kid was terrified and would only make more mistakes if she put more pressure on him? Those were the thoughts going through Lillian's mind, although she knew she would have to phrase them in a somewhat more diplomatic manner if she wanted to make any difference. She wasn't feeling particularly diplomatic, but for Issor's sake – and probably that of some other young officers – she would try.

Soon after, Velna left the bridge for her ready room, making a comment about having to do some paperwork (it was still called that out of tradition although actual paper hadn't been involved for centuries). That was Lillian's opportunity. Shortly after Velna, she, too, left the bridge, planning to try and make the XO realise that showing a bit more compassion often resulted not only in happier crew members but also in better performance.


	8. Chapter 8 - Meet & Greet

The room was simply labeled "utility room (large)" on the floorplans. It was situated on the third floor of ASF Building 1B, one of the outwardly identical HQ buildings right at the public entrance to the base. Indeed, it could be used for many things. Large briefings, additional workspace should Asalooq Sector Command ever need it, and you could probably bolt cargo shelves to the floor and use it as storage. But that would be a terrible waste, Commander Parker-Takeno thought as he entered, moving stiffly in his dress uniform. Today, the "utility room" looked like a smart, but not overly fancy restaurant in San Francisco, he thought. There was a bar, where a bartender (a hologram, he assumed) was waiting, there was a little stage and towards the glass front, offering access to the terrace and a great view of Asalooq's star-speckled night sky, round tables for four each. Federation blue dominated, with Federation and Starfleet flags and banners draped everywhere. The one behind the stage with the glass lectern showed the AICSM's emblem, a silhouette of Asalooq's continents with the Federation's translucent stars over it. Eddie hoped there wouldn't be too many speeches.

He was a little early, so the room was almost empty. About a hundred people were expected to this formal get-to-know-you event. Every Starfleet officer and major civilian official plus their spouses was expected to attend. There had been a choice of either dress uniform or its civilian equivalent. For Eddie, that had been easy to make, because he just didn't have any formal civilian attire handy and wasn't too good with clothes anyway. He looked around and saw a lone Ensign standing near the glass front. Eddie needed a moment to recognize the species – he was an Asalooq. That must be the unlucky CONN officer who botched the landing. First of his species to really live offworld, and he arrives in this way … Eddie felt sympathy for the guy. He had had to talk to a few Asalooq and found them very distant with their insistence on audio only. There was probably some fascinating socio-historical background to it all, but Eddie had no time to read all the dossiers. Well, they answered his questions, once they had recovered from the apparent shock of being contacted via their publicly listed comms address. Eddie wondered what they would do if he turned up at their offices unexpectedly – shoot him?

Eddie walked a few steps into the room and looked around. Except for the Asalooq Ensign, there was only the barkeeper, whose stance betrayed a hologram in waiting mode. After a few minutes, people started to trickle in. Most of them were younger civilian officials and junior officers. Eddie recognized Captain Miguel Peña, tall and white-haired as he was, with a younger and rather beautiful woman resplendent in a green dress at his side. The Captain was wearing a civilian suit, but with his comm badge and rank insignia, it was an approved compromise between a uniform and civilian attire. Also among the first to arrive was a human woman, an Ensign whose roots were obviously from the Indian Subcontinent. Eddie might have flirted (although she was clearly too young for him, the ink on her officer's patent probably still wet) but had no opportunity, because she seemed to avoid looking at people.

At least one who fits in around here, Eddie thought with a small grin. Animated chatter started, and Eddie was considering which conversation to start or to join when Commander Robinson took the stage. He was a bulky man, had probably been muscular ten years ago but was now more than a little out of shape. Eddie had little appreciation for that kind of thing, even though he knew how it could happen when one's lifestyle became sedentary, especially if one had had a muscular physique before - and burned correspondingly many calories.

"Ladies, gentlemen, other sentients and esteemed guests – welcome to Asalooq, welcome to its Starfleet Facility, and welcome to the Asalooq Initial Civilian-Starfleet Mission!" People applauded, and Eddie leaned against the bar. His first impression of Robinson hadn't been all that good, but he seemed forceful and spirited. Eddie wasn't sure that was a good trait for a man in his position – it wasn't his business, though. "My name is Leonard Robinson, and I'm the Commanding Officer. I don't want to go into our mission right now, all of that will be covered in your department and working group briefings. For now, I just want to introduce myself – I guess I've done that – and the civilian head of the mission." A haughty-looking dark-skinned Vulcan woman with grey hair and set, stony features stepped to Robinson's side. "This is Head Instructor T'vil, formerly of the Vulcan Academy of Sciences and an experienced specialist in the field of First Contact and Initial Missions. Her advice to me will be invaluable and her expertise will help with all departments' success. We've organized this evening to give everyone a chance to get to know each other. Bar and buffet are open – enjoy!"

A short applause, some music set in from somewhere, and then the more eager people headed for the bar. The holographic barkeeper activated two more of his kind and things got underway. Eddie smiled. He rather liked parties, even slightly formal ones, and hadn't had much contact with fleet officers for a while, something he had missed because of their broader perspective on, well, everything. He saw a Human Lieutenant Commander standing with another man, apparently his husband. He knew this face from somewhere, and decided to check. "Good evening, Commander – I'm Eddie Parker-Takeno, head of the planetary defense training mission and CO, SGCE-409. Do I know you from somewhere? Your face rings a bell somehow." It really did. This was clearly a soldierly man, straight of back and with that watchfulness that any veteran would recognize in another. But there was more. Takeno was sure they had met.

* * *

Looking around, Jeroen found the party surprisingly tasteful for a military affair. Well, not strictly military – obviously, there were quite a few civilians involved, too. Maybe that explained it.

Just as he was turning towards Raphael to comment on his observations, his attention was, however, captured by someone else – a familiar face. It took him a moment, but then he remembered the guy who had just introduced himself as Eddie Parker-Takeno, remembered vividly. "We certainly do know each other," he said with a smile, "Jeroen Roosevelt, formerly U.S.S Haldeman. We were involved in the fighting around Betazed in 2375 together." Eddie nodded and smiled. "I remember now... that was quite a battle. But we won... So, what are you doing now?"

"I'm Chief Engineer on the U.S.S. Stanislav Y. Petrov," Jeroen replied before turning to introduce Raphael. "Eddie, this is my husband, Raphael. He is part of the Civilian Mission to Asalooq and works with the committee which is going to work on the Asalooq political and legislative system with them. He specialises in sentient rights."

While Eddie and Raphael shook hands and exchanged the usual pleasantries, Jeroen cast another look around the room. It was definitely getting fuller now, officers and civilians pouring in alone, in pairs or in small groups. Jeroen spotted the Captain, accompanied by a beautiful woman in a green dress – probably his wife – and wearing civilian evening attire. Jeroen couldn't quite get used to that kind of thing. While he thought that men in suits could look very smart (Raphael certainly did), he thought it looked wrong on a fellow officer at an official function. He just hoped it was merely a personal preference on Peña's part, not another element of his "let's take it easy on the rules and regulations" act...

Eddie's voice distracted him from his musings. "You two must be thrilled to be posted to Asalooq together," he remarked, still smiling. Jeroen nodded emphatically. "We definitely are," he said truthfully, "We've been trying for years, but it never quite worked out. I've been away from Raphael and the kids way too much, so I'm even happier to have them with me now." He paused for a moment, then asked: "So, what about you? Still turning the heads of all the young females this side of the Delta Quadrant?"

* * *

Eddie chuckled. He was a little surprised that his reputation was so memorable and filed the thought away for later examination. It wasn't something to think about at a party. "Well, if you have to ask, those days are probably over," he replied. "Really though, I've been up to my ears in work lately, training my bunch. Also, to be honest, learning how to maneuver an SGCE. It's not five people anymore …" While Raphael's attention seemed to start wandering, Jeroen leaned in, apparently interested. "So, how big is your outfit?" "Four hundred. 394 officially. It's a potpourri, really. A Company of infantry with actual Infantry Fighting Vehicles, one of infantry with Armored Transport, and a Weapons platoon with a couple of heavy support weapons. Bunch of support troops, of course. Got my own field aid station, all mobile on their own vehicles. Then there's the Recon platoon - they can deploy on foot, by hopper, AGVs or by war elephant, whatever you want."

Eddie rather liked his mobile, flexible unit - especially since he would not lead them into battle anytime soon. "We're here to train up Asalooq's PD, obviously, but we're fully equipped," he added. Most old vets like Jereon Roosevelt liked to have some firepower when this far out. "No armor, though? I saw half a brigade of armor attack on Betazed…I think on the outskirts of Riix. That was something. I almost felt pity for the Jem'hadar." Roosevelt said in awe. "No tanks," Eddie replied, secretly glad that he didn't have to worry about the additional logistics. "The GC arm has few of them left on active duty. They're stored away God knows where. I guess it doesn't make a whole lot of sense to haul them all the way out here. I wouldn't have room for more than a platoon of them anyway." "Could be political, too," Jereon guessed. "Can't make it look like you're any kind of occupation force." "Yeah, definitely. I'm already thinking about showing local civilians around the lager, give the kids a ride on a hopper and so on. Show we're here for training purposes, not even a proper garrison. And we obviously won't go anywhere near local settlements in any sort of strength. Talking about locals … what happened with that landing yesterday? I heard your Asalooq pilot screwed up some." Roosevelt had to know something, and since they were both in uniform, a little light shop talk couldn't be too impolite.

* * *

Jeroen grimaced, equally amused and annoyed. "Well, what did it look like? One moment everything is fine, we're approaching Asalooq as we should be, the next, we're in way too shallow and our fabulous young pilot has no idea why. All the systems were working just fine, mind you, so no blaming it on them… not that he tried, come to think of it, he's not a coward, got to give him that. Anyway, my guess would be he simply entered the wrong vector, missed a decimal point or something. It happens. Which is exactly why you double-check this kind of thing before you confirm it. If you're really smart, you might even have a number of scripts running that check the plausibility of your data. It's not, forgive the pun, rocket science - I mean, I know that and the last time I flew anything bigger than a shuttle was some time between stone age and when James Kirk was still on active duty… Honestly, I've got no idea what they're learning at the Academy these days… "

* * *

Eddie grinned. "Well, it was certainly quite a show for us down here, if a slightly dusty one," he remarked. Jeroen smiled despite himself. He remembered that Eddie had always had that kind of effect on him. "You're in the infantry, you should be used to dust," he said, before adding, somewhat more seriously: "Anyway, it may have been funny for you, but believe me, our Captain wasn't so amused, having to explain to everyone and their dog, including at least twenty media outlets, that the first Asalooq Starfleet Officer somehow managed to make a mess of a perfectly routine landing… "

* * *

Issor had been an officer for less than six weeks, and already he was sure his career could not sink much lower. The shame at his ridiculous pilot error burned in his stomach, and he dared not look at anyone during the whole evening. He stayed away from the bar, because even talking to the holographic bartenders was too much. Also, if he moved, he might be intercepted. He could feel the curious glances from everywhere. The Asalooq, he could almost hear them think. That is the finest they produce. They must be a useless species, a backwards culture. He won't go far. They won't go far.

As he had done so many times before, Teldac questioned his decision to join Starfleet. Yes, he might be an outsider on his own world, living proof of his parents' breach of Tashaneton - but was the alternative really better? Velna would always badger him, he was sure, in her uncultured, disrespectful and aggressive way - and he had no way of defending himself, and no way to make himself into something resembling a capable officer, the only promising way of stopping the talk. Soon, the Community Council would want to know how he was doing, and even someone as diplomatic (for a Human) as Captain Peña would not be able to hide the fact that Ensign Teldac Issor's career was foundering. The best started their career at Lieutenant junior Grade. Almost everyone made that rank in their first twenty months of active duty. He would not, Issor knew. He wouldn't even make it out of his initial bridge position and into his real field, Engineering. There had been whispers about how Starfleet dealt with such officers as himself. They waited, and around the 30 months mark, their XO and the people from the responsible Personnel staff would talk to them about leaving. Surprisingly gentle how the Federation disposed of their unworthy officers.

Teldac stole out of the room and to his quarters at Habitat Tower D. There was nothing for him there, except the (as yet) hidden sneers of all those who recognized him as just what he was - unfit to wear the uniform he had worked so hard to attain.

* * *

Thank you very much for reading the first episode of Star Trek Asalooq! In the new year, the series will continue with weekly chunks of Episode 2.


End file.
